Give birth as soon as you can, Grandma Mary grumbled, swinging her legs off the bed.
It was her eightyseventh year, and she could barely remember what it felt like to be young, but her grandson Tom and greatgrandson Jack kept nudging her, sometimes tapping her with a cane.
Stay in that blue stocking and youll be thinking of me when its too late, Tom would say.
Now Mary lay still, refusing to rise, muttering at the household for no reason. What, am I feeding you vipers so you can sleep till noon? she shouted, while pots rattled in the kitchen at half past six in the morning.
The family grew uneasy.
Grandma, asked fiveyearold Imogen, why dont you swear at us any more?
Just waiting for the end, dear, Mary sighed, as if she were both saddened by the passing of her life and hopeful for something beyond the boiled cabbage soup you two have forgotten how to make.
Imogen darted to the kitchen where the rest of the relatives were huddled.
The groundhog in Marys garden died! she announced, fresh from her covert reconnaissance.
What groundhog? asked Victor, the family head and Marys eldest son, raising his bushy eyebrows. He looked like a character out of an old folk tale, the kind of man who seemed to have the wind itself walking his streets.
Probably a little old thing, Imogen shrugged. She didnt need to know the exact animalher grandmother had never shown it to her.
The elders exchanged looks.
The next day a composed, measured doctor visited their home.
Somethings not right with your grandmother, he diagnosed.
Obviously, Victor slammed his hands on his thighs, thats why we called you!
The doctor glanced thoughtfully at Victor, then at his wife.
Its agerelated, he said matteroffactly. I dont see any serious abnormalities. What are the symptoms?
She stopped telling me when to make lunch and dinner! Victors wife, herself already a grandmother, replied in a fallen voice. All her life shed poke me with her nose, say my hands werent right for the chores, and now she wont even step into the kitchen.
At the family council with the doctor they agreed the signs were worrisome. Exhausted by the worry, they fell asleep as if theyd sunk into the floor.
In the night Victor was roused by the familiar scuff of slippers, but this time the sound wasnt urgent, it didnt demand a hurried breakfast or a rush to work.
Mom? he whispered, stepping into the hallway.
A husky voice answered from the darkness, Whats up?
Do what? Victor asked.
Just thinking, while youre all asleep, I might run off to meet Mikey Jacobson for a date, Mary muttered, sounding as if she were coming back to herself. Im heading to the loowhat else?
Victor flicked on the kitchen light, set the kettle boiling, and slumped at the table, holding his head in his hands.
Hungry? Mary stood in the corridor, watching him.
Yes, Im waiting for you. What was that about, Mom?
Mary shuffled to the table. Ive been cooped up in my room for five days, when a pigeon smashed into the windowbang! I thought it was a death omen. I lay down and waited. Days passed, the second, the third, and then I woke up in the dead of night and thought, Why should I let that omen drive me to a life spent under the sheets? Bring me some tea, stronger, hotter. Weve gone three days without a proper chat, son, well catch up.
Victor finally drifted off around half past five in the morning, while Mary remained in the kitchen, determined to make breakfast herselfbecause no one else could manage to feed the children properly, not even those thinhanded helpers.
As dawn broke, the house settled into a quiet rhythm. Marys stubbornness, the familys worry, and the doctors calm advice all blended into one simple truth: lifes final chapter is not a time to hide in fear, but a chance to keep stirring the pot, sharing a laugh, and reminding those we love that every day, however small, is worth living fully.
